


I Know You By Heart

by MemoryCrow



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belonging, Dark, M/M, Mild Kink, Mild S&M, Smut, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9682241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryCrow/pseuds/MemoryCrow
Summary: Killian realizes an unexpected kink.





	

 

Was it wrong? Yes. _Yes_ , it was.

Killian’s blood made the sound of roaring wind, of the ocean in his ears, so that he couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. One moment everything had been more or less normal, at least within his body. It sat mostly still, boot-toe tapping rapidly, and supported a generalized ticking of his mind. It was unobtrusive, save a phantom hand that protested the hook.

Then the Dark One arrived, a swagger of literal dark, and Killian’s insides started to go berserk. It was a betrayal of self…. The blush that felt hot at his face and chest, the hurtfulness of an erratic pulse at his neck. It was all blood. The Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin, seemed to communicate directly with platelets and whatnot, body parts fluid and malleable. Blood made noise inside Killian’s head. It heated his skin and leapt to sudden, startling life at his groin.

It was so wrong.

He looked at the others, pointedly not looking at Rumpelstiltskin. Gold. Crocodile. Whoever the demon-man was. He was like a dog… he could smell Killian’s anxiety. If Killian met his eyes, he was sure to be greeted with a smug sureness that was near intolerable.

His mind, struggling beneath the roar, tried to form the words he couldn’t hear. David, shoulders tensed, would be saying _We will act! We will fight!_ Unarmed, he still appeared to wear a bulk of shoulder holster, a sword at his hip.

Mary Margaret folded her arm across her middle. Head tilted, eyes looking inward, she jutted out her jaw. _I don’t know. Maybe we need to take a moment to consider the harm we could do_. David’s posture changed on a dime, soldier to diplomat _. Mary Margaret’s right_. She’s always right, until she says otherwise.

Emma, standing near and part of the _very wrong_ that was happening to him, backed up a step. Killian could reach out and grasp a tendril of long, pale hair. If he could move. If the urge wasn’t absurd in his current condition. He couldn’t see her face, but he could read her straight posture, her squared hips and outstretched hands… her solid, strong-legged stance. _There’s no time. It’s our only option. It’s one versus many. I’ll do it alone._

… Or something like that. Killian couldn’t seem to remember what they were discussing. It was always a crisis; a moral dilemma on top of a crisis. He risked a glimpse to Rumpelstiltskin, a shadow near the door of Granny’s. Would he weigh in?

 _Kill them all_. Or, like Tommy Lee Jones _, I don’t care_. He was untroubled with morals… Killian found lightness in it. Sometimes laughter.

He didn’t seem to be part of the conversation, though surely the others were trying to pull Rumpelstiltskin into the fray. They would need his magic, but first must come a consideration of the price. And of the very nature of their new bedfellow.

Oh… that was the truth.

Not yet contributing, the Dark One was staring at him. The roaring sound stopped, and yet Killian still couldn’t hear. A vast, quiet white noise had filled his skull and the hollow ache of his body. Phantom and present fingertips went numb and were disconcerting. Killian’s lips stung… his chest hurt, where it had once been transgressed.

His eyes were caught; he wasn’t able to look away. Rumpelstiltskin had been expressionless, showing only his presence and perhaps a mild impatience. His aura of control was palpable to Killian. As their eyes locked, Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth began to curl into a small smile. A whisper of a smile. The smile reached his dark, hooded eyes, and twinkled there.

Killian shivered, feeling his calves tense and the bones of his feet flex. He was relieved when Regina arrived, just behind Rumpelstiltskin. The Dark One moved aside, making way for her velour path of wine-sap tension. He glanced to her, briefly, a witch to his wizard, and they seemed to have an instant concurrence.

Then he looked back to Killian, a quick check from the corner of clever eyes, and Killian knew he was doomed.

 

 

It was unmanly, the whimper that issued from his throat. Voice soft, and yet clearly entertained, Rumpelstiltskin said, “Oh, poor dearie.”

When the tables had turned, it was with a completeness that was shocking. Killian could hardly believe that he’d once stood, cavalier and cruel, before this same man. Who had cowered. Sometimes he felt the need to turn the tables once more… to return fully to the rake he’d been, and put this overconfident, self-aggrandizing, controlling and unpredictable _pervert_ in his place.

Dark magic made this tangent of thought rather pointless. As did Killian’s body… the new twists in his mind. Neural pathways formed by Rumpelstiltskin, who then walked them with ease.

Killian’s head was held to the floor. The palm that pressed him down was firm; long fingers were wicked yet soothing in his hair. Another hand at his throat, in a mild squeeze. He was stark naked, a curious thing while in the back of Rumpelstiltskin’s shop, the sign on the door turned to ‘closed’.

He was naked, but the body that cocooned and sheltered him was tailored and well dressed. But for the cock, naked in a manner that was raw, slicked and hard and moving in and out of him in a slow, arduous and tormenting thrust. His whimper sounded again. On forearms and knees, Killian pushed his hips back. He needed more… the fast and hard pistoning he knew would leave him blinded and emptied, thrown from his body like a boomerang, to come whizzing and whirling back.

But Rumpelstiltskin moved slowly, groaning with his own pleasure. The weave of his clothes was warm on Killian’s back. The clothing captured scents of a sharp cologne, of books and smoke and a honey’d scent that Killian now recognized as magic. Rain, earth. Lips soft at his ear, body a tense, tight-wired bow of tension, Rumpelstiltskin murmured, “Poor dearie.”

 

 

What sort of kink was it when one craved the fondling of one’s internal organs? Or, to be specific, the heart. Surely _that_ was wrong.

Killian didn’t know how to ask for it. He couldn’t find words that seemed acceptable, knowing that what he wanted was a deadly, agonizing, panic-filled thing. A fucked-up, beyond the pale, freakish thing. Instinctively, he tried to work Rumpelstiltskin as he tried to work women… He placed small, whispered kisses in sensitive places; he touched in ways he knew to be arousing to himself. He opened his mouth to the Dark One, allowing him to kiss deeply, to muscle his tongue into Killian in a slow fit of velvet dominion…. And all the while, he pressed Rumpelstiltskin’s hand to his chest. Holding it there, his fingers stroking between bones and knuckles, he encouraged the petting of the soft hair laying over his chest. He encouraged the kneading of muscle and the touch to hyper-alert skin. He was insistent, his hand covering Rumpelstiltskin’s.

Eventually, Rumpelstiltskin drew back. Killian was gratified to see wildness in his eyes, a loosening of control, so often dangerous. He was flushed at his face, lips swollen… the bottom lip that Killian, pushing up, tried to capture in his teeth. But Rumpelstiltskin drew further away, and his hand made a reflexive, pushing and grasping motion at Killian’s chest. It made Killian draw a sharp breath, and he saw puzzlement and curiosity in Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes.

“What is it that you want?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, his voice quiet.

How could he speak such wrong words? Killian’s breathing was hard; his chest rose and fell beneath the Dark One’s hand. His hips made a slow rocking; he sought friction and heat against Rumpelstiltskin’s naked thigh.

In answer, he pressed his hand over Rumpelstiltskin’s. He whispered, “Touch it.”

Brow furrowed, a slight smile playing at his lips, Rumpelstiltskin said, “Touch _what,_ dearie?”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “You _know_.” He was sure Rumpelstiltskin knew. His heart was pounding, begging, palpable to the long, articulate fingers massaging through hot fur.

“Do I?”

Killian’s torso and pelvis both surged up against his would-be tormentor. The Dark One had become unexpectedly generous in the doling out of pleasure…. His body was in a warm, sensuous grind over Killian’s, his mouth in a heavy luxury of kissing, hot or soft. His cock was an urgent, febrile length, nudging to Killian’s. They made shivery trails of wetness at one another’s bellies, cool against unquiet and disrupted skin.

Hand firm over Rumpelstiltskin’s, Killian said, “Touch me… inside.”

He’d said that before, and it meant something different. But Killian saw understanding in Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Aye.”

The smell and feeling of magic became thick, and Killian realized that was part of it… part of what drove him was the magic, itself. A sweet scent, a ghost of honey, like alyssum; and a strange scent… the earth breathing up to the sky, a heavy opening up and supplication as storm clouds gathered. The scents grew strong, and with them came the feeling of teasing feathers; the nuzzle of a cat, breathing a purr, close to his ear, whiskers and fur tickling.

Then Rumpelstiltskin’s hand was _inside_ , stealing all of Killian’s breath, making his body arch and his eyes roll back. Rumpelstiltskin’s hand encircled his heart, and it caused pain. It blocked out everything else, making his pulse first race, then drastically slow. Fingers and thumb made an exploring caress that felt alien to his insides… a weird pressure that was hard to define as touch.

Yet his cock jumped at his belly, his lips tingled, wanting for kisses. 

“This is what you want?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, his voice a thick purr.

Unable to speak, Killian nodded. His hand dropped away from the thing he couldn’t look at… the shock of Rumpelstiltskin’s hand, vanished into his body, at least wrist deep. Blood should gush from his chest cavity… death should be upon him in an instant, blood spurting, filling his lungs, spilling from his mouth. He’d seen such things; he’d known horrors. Rumpelstiltskin had been one of them. But the Dark One’s magic made it a bloodless ravishment, a taking of something precious that could certainly harry one unto death, but it also allowed for Rumpelstiltskin’s control. It was a hovering over death… a long and morbidly curious glance, afforded by a trickster psychopomp with his own agenda, his own curiosity.

Killian’s hand found the overwrought, hard-up, hot thing that was his cock, needful nerve-endings in an uproar, blood surging when – by all rights – it should have fled the scene. It should have gone into hiding, urging his cock to do the same.

Instead, his breath came in struggling, shallow pants. His eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering, and his hand grasped and stroked. He rubbed himself against Rumpelstiltskin… he rubbed their cocks against each other, feeling combustible and overwhelmed with the pleasured sounds Rumpelstiltskin made. A howl in his sullied, no longer fallow chest became a whine in his throat as he felt Rumpelstiltskin moving against him.

“You are a strange one.” Rumpelstiltskin said, mouth hot at Killian’s jaw, near his ear.

Desires exposed, Killian could not disagree. Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers elicited mayhem in Killian’s heart; his body began to shake and tremble, out of his control.

Rumpelstiltskin said, “Kiss me.” Under the circumstances, it had the power of a command. Killian obeyed, mouth wide, sensitive tongue out and seeking, serpent-like. It made his hips go into and erratic spasm, feeling Rumpelstiltskin’s tongue at play against his. It was luxurious, yet raunchy… impure. The lust of the hard-bitten man who held him in check was thick, pouring a riotous passion into him. They lapped and sucked at one another, and then Rumpelstiltskin was at his neck, biting, leaving livid marks.

When Rumpelstiltskin’s hand pulled from Killian’s chest, his mouth returned to Killian’s. His tongue made an aggressive invasion, hand leaving the unchaste territory of Killian’s heart, and the cry Killian made was swallowed up, muffled by a deep kiss; strangled by the hand at his throat. Body squirming beneath the insistent, pleasure-seeking fever of the Dark One, Killian felt his muscles overtaken… muscular contractions gripped his pelvic floor, his limbs… even the throb, the invisible wound at his chest. His body arched as his cock swelled and spilled over, hot and jumpy in his hand. He emptied with the rhythm of his released heart, and his heart quaked as light seemed to open up his skull. It sent a pulsing message to his cock, to his troubled lips, and he gulped down ragged breaths, eyes squeezed closed, as he felt Rumpelstiltskin come against his thigh. Teeth were gripped to the pliable flesh over his clavicle as Rumpelstiltskin swallowed his own cry.

 

 

 

  The pirate was unbelievable. Rumpelstiltskin stared, not believing, as Killian hovered near Emma. It was evident, at least to Rumpelstiltskin, that Killian was in a prolonged state of crisis… his eyes were rather hectic within their shadow of khol, the blue of the irises touched with a fierce mania. His face was dark with stubble; his glossy hair unkempt.

Yet he flashed his eyes at Emma, He touched his fingertips to his ruddy lips, leading her eyes to land there, to contemplate kissing such a rough and tumble debauchee. Killian made innocent, boyish eyes at her, clearly false.

What did he hope to accomplish, Rumpelstiltskin wondered? Killian showed white, wolfish teeth and played at being a ladykiller, a bodice-ripper. Or… it wasn’t untrue, but he was hiding a great deal. He played at taming wild ways in order to please and impress the Savior…. But he grinned, as if he couldn’t suppress a snicker at a dirty joke, when Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes at the antics of the heroes.

… And yet the rakehell boy wanted to be held down, to be desecrated and defiled in the extreme. In fact, he was greedy about it, batting eyelashes at Rumpelstiltskin like a little boy coveting a cookie from a favored aunt. _Touch it_. Rumpelstiltskin looked down, away from the unwanted, heroic and seemingly wholesome group crowding his shop. Killian was a blemish amongst them.

And then, on the other hand, Belle arrived. He supposed he was hiding a great deal, himself… but he always hid a great deal. It had begun to feel natural.

It was true, he still nursed hopes for Belle. She had inspired in him a vision, something that seemed far-off and otherworldly, of a calm, domestic bliss. Something warm and sweet, wherein he was coddled and not overly troubled with nefarious thought.

But she had also inspired weariness. She remained on-again, off-again, ever evaluating and in judgment. She could not accept his darkness; even the tiniest speck of evil, a pimple of evil; because it would point to darkness within herself. His weariness came from trying to be the man she wanted, knowing in his bones that he wasn’t that man. Truth had overwhelmed desire; truth all but quelled it. It led him to the familiarity of his own company; the contempt he often felt within it. Her smallest appraisal made him tired.

She hadn’t come for him, but rather she’d come for the hero brigade. She had desires of her own, heroism primary among them. She glanced at him, the blue of her eyes such a different world from Killian’s blue, for a moment, Rumpelstiltskin went blank. He stared, not knowing what to make of such an open landscape, lacking in turbulence.

She looked away, and a picture became very clear. _Look at them_. Even on the surface, the book’s cover, it was evident. Belle was one of them. She belonged, as wholesome as they, maybe more so, goodness gleaming through various conflicts and secrets. Fresh as a daisy, dewy sweet.

Killian belonged in their midst not at all. He was looking at Rumpelstiltskin… had been looking since Belle’s arrival. Typical… even with his play at Emma, he felt threatened by Belle. He didn’t want to lose his place in Rumpelstiltskin’s life. In his bed, or other points of rendezvous.

Rumpelstiltskin gave a small shake of his head, meeting Killian’s eyes. It was a ‘no’, but he had no idea what he meant to communicate. An admonishment? _You are unbelievable_. No… he needn’t worry over Belle? No… you’re not one of them…?

But Killian already knew that. He was a dark stain on their table of white, pressed linen. As subtle as Rumpelstiltskin’s ‘no’, he began to edge away from the heroes. He moved towards the counter, behind which Rumpelstiltskin stood.

The aching blue of his eyes was as tempestuous as a storm at sea. Rumpelstiltskin’s hand twitched, palm warm with the memory of the darkness in Killian’s heart.

 

 

 

THE END

 


End file.
